


011. Red

by VivantaMortinto



Series: My Unofficial BDT [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 10:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivantaMortinto/pseuds/VivantaMortinto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek visits an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	011. Red

**Author's Note:**

> For my own edification and amusement, I decided to take a 100 prompt challenge. Will I make it? Who knows, but "writing more" is a New Year's Resolution for me, so I'm giving it a shot!

Derek fumed as he stood inside slowest elevator in the known universe, trying not to breathe. The place smelled of despair, abandonment, and failing health; he hated it. When the doors finally parted, he burst into the hallway, barely managing to balance the bag and two Styrofoam cups of coffee he held, and headed to the one place in the entire building that didn’t disgust him. He walked up to the familiar door and knocked gently. He heard a grunt and shuffling footsteps, and an old man opened the door and peered out.

“Derek Hale. It must be Thursday,” the man said with a smile.

“Thursday it is,” Derek replied with a grin still boyish despite the salt-and-pepper stubble that surrounded it, “How are you today, Mr. Stilinski?”

“Derek, after all these years, I think you can call me by my given name.” Stilinski said, stepping aside and closing the door behind his visitor.

“I try never to be on a first-name-basis with my arresting officer,” he joked.

Stilinkski laughed, then eyed the bag Derek held with suspicion. “Is that what I think it is?”

“A treat, I got special permission.” Derek placed the bag and tray of coffee on the table, and headed over to tackle the few dishes in the sink.

“Oh, God love you,” Stilinski muttered, tearing into the bag. He looked up. “Christ, Derek, I’m not an invalid, you don’t have to clean up every time you come over,” he added around a mouthful of jelly doughnut.

Derek sighed. “Just sit down, eat your doughnut, and let me do you a favor, please.”

Stilinski relented. “How old are you now?”

“Fifty-three,” Derek replied without looking up from the dishes.

“Seriously? The rate you’re going, you’ll look better at my age than I looked at yours.”

Derek grinned as he finished putting away the silverware. “Here’s hoping.” He dried his hands at sat down and took a sip of his coffee. Their conversation fell into the old routine, filled with comfortable pauses and laughter. Yes, Scott’s kids were getting big, and good-looking too, but how could they not? Look at their parents. Yeah, the football game had been hard to watch, but now, Mr. Laurel, the building’s sole Bostonian, would shut the hell up about his precious Patriots. No, he didn’t know Lydia had come out with a new book, he’d have to pick up a copy. Before he knew it, his coffee was gone, and the afternoon sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon.

“Is there anything you want to do while I’m here, anywhere you need to go?” Derek asked, standing up and throwing their empty cups in the trash.

“Yeah,” Stilinski answered, raising his eyes to Derek’s face, “I’d like to see Stiles, if you think that would be okay.”

Derek sucked at his teeth and slowly nodded. “Yeah, sure, that’s fine. Grab your coat, it’s cold out.”

Derek got out of the car and rushed to the other side to help Stilinski. The old man leaned heavily on his arm as they walked across the uneven lawn.

“Twenty-two years old. I can’t even think back to when I was that young. Can you?”

“Sometimes,” Derek answered softly. He guided Stilinski to the gravestone and stepped back to a respectful distance. He tried not to listen to the lawman’s words, but couldn’t help overhearing one phrase, repeated again and again; the old regrets of an old man.

“You shouldn’t have been alone. You should never have been alone.”

* * *

_“Stiles!” Derek shouted, rushing over and kneeling on the ground next to his friend. “No, no, no. Don’t try to move.”_

_“Did it work?” Stiles asked._

_“It worked.”_

_“And the baby?”_

_“The baby’s fine, Scott’s taking him back into town.”_

_Stiles sighed with relief, and grimaced. “I was hoping to avoid this part.”_

_“It’s not too late, there’s still time. I can give you-“_

_“Don’t! Don’t you dare, Derek.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I’m so tired, Derek. I’m tired, and I miss my mom.” Stiles reached for Derek’s hand and squeezed it. “You have to watch out for him; you have to take care of him. He can’t handle this. And you can’t tell him anything, he wouldn’t understand. Promise me.”_

_“I promise,” Derek whispered, blinking rapidly._

_“Thank you.”_

_For the first time in all the years he’d known him, Stiles was perfectly motionless, perfectly silent, and Derek Hale howled into the unendurable stillness of the night._

* * *

Derek retreated from the lobby and the stink of decay into the chilly evening air. He walked slowly to his car and craned his neck until he found the window lit with a faint blue glow that told him the former sheriff had sat down in front of his tv.

“He wasn’t alone,” he whispered into the night, “Even though I couldn’t do anything more than keep him warm, squeeze his hand, and take away some of his pain. Your son was never alone.” Then he drove off, trying not to think of the smell of his old leather jacket and the goofy smile of the young man in a red hooded sweatshirt.


End file.
